Those Who Mourn
by shewriteswords
Summary: After. A missing scene.


**Hi all. I've never written anything like this before, so I'm a bit nervous. I appreciate any feedback you might have - enjoy!**

**Warnings:** Grief, depression, drinking.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

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**Those Who Mourn**

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_Okay_, Dean says. _Thanks, doc. Yeah. You too. _

There's a hand on his shoulder. _Come on, Sammy_.

_It's Sam_, someone says.

_Okay. Come on, Sam. Let's go_.

The car is familiar and strange and the smells take his breath away with the memories they carry. Stale Burger King mixes with the strong chemical odor of Hoppe's bore cleaner and the clean scent of the Lysol wipes Dad always used to clean blood off the seats. _People try to use straight-up bleach, for this_, he'd say. _But bleach doesn't clean off the blood so much as it destroys whatever you're trying to clean_.

Sam wonders if he should use bleach on his hands.

_Come on, Sam_. And Dean's hand is on his shoulder again, the passenger door open, key to the motel room in his hand. Sam pulls himself up.

_Did someone call, _he begins, but can't finish.

_Yes_, Dean says. _Lily? Lydia? _It's Lianna, Jess's roommate from freshman year. Lianna, with hair as big as her personality and Jess's best friend since middle school, but Sam can't bring himself to say her name. _I can't remember her name, _Dean says. _But she called them_. _It's okay, Sam. Let's get some sleep tonight and we'll figure out the rest tomorrow_.

Tomorrow comes, and with it the seven-hour drive down to Cathedral City for the memorial service. No one says anything, but Sam knows there was nothing left to bury. Nothing at all, which means there's nothing for Sam to hold on to. Nothing at all, which means Jess won't haunt Sam for years to come.

Sam laughs bitterly at the lie.

_Sam?_

_Nothing, Dean. _

The Moores are holding the service close to Jess's childhood home, at a little church on Canyon Drive. Sam remembers the first time he'd gone down with Jess. She'd lived there her whole life, something Sam couldn't even imagine. _Welcome to Cat City_, she'd said. _Home of Frank Sinatra's ghost_. He'd forced himself to grin and focus his worry on meeting her parents. Rufus Turner had doused Frank Sinatra's bones in gasoline in 1998.

Dean pulls up to the Red Lion Inn. He's gone for a moment, then back with the key. _Nineteen, _he says. _Come on, little brother_. The hand is there again, on his shoulder, pushing him forward, pulling him into the room, settling him on the bed.

Then Dean is gone and back with their bags. _Dinner, Sammy?_ _I'll get takeout. _There's rice and lo mein and Jess had loved Chinese food and it tastes like dust in his mouth. Sam lays down on the bed and Dean flips channels mindlessly.

Then it's morning and the sun is too bright and Sam is ready for the nightmare to end. Dean is fast asleep and there's a bottle of Jim Beam in Dean's duffel. A full bottle, and Dad rarely springs for whiskey, but maybe Dean is buying it on Hector Aframian's dime.

Sam drinks it all. The room is tilting and there's something wet on his face and he wants Jess, not Dean. _I know, Sammy. It's gonna be okay, little brother. I know, I know. _

He wakes up and it's Wednesday and he's lived for two full days without Jessica. He throws up and goes back to sleep.

It's Wednesday night and Dean is shaking him. _Drink some water, Sammy_. He does._ And I got you some saltines. _He takes one. The salt burns his tongue. _Okay. You can go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in time to get ready tomorrow, okay? _He nods and lays down.

It's Thursday, and he's numb. Dean produces a suit out of nowhere and Sam stares down at the tie. He's never tied a tie before. He was too young to pass as a Fed before The Argument and he's never gone to prom. He'd bought one for his interview, but he'd been planning to ask Brady to help him with it.

He hadn't been looking forward to it. Another awkward Sam Winchester moment that he would have blamed on everything and anything besides a hunter's upbringing. _Here, Sammy, let me get that for you_. Dean ties it around his own neck, slips it off, and helps Sam adjust it.

The drive to the church is short, and his stomach rebels at the thought of facing Jess's parents. But Dean parks, and Sam gets out of the car, and there they are, stiff in their black clothing.

Jess's parents are impossibly loving and full of life. These are not the same people. But Jess is gone, and maybe this how all of them are, without her.

_I'm sorry_, he chokes out. _I'm sorry_.

_Whatever are you sorry for?_ Mr. Moore is holding himself tightly, and Sam understands. But Mrs. Moore wraps him in a hug and he forces himself to reciprocate. _She was happy_, she says. _She was happy, with you. And that was all we ever wanted for her. _

_I'm sorry_, is all he can say. Mrs. Moore presses a kiss to his cheek. The service is starting, and Dean pulls him to a chair. The priest gets up and says a few mumbled words that are of no comfort to anyone. Mrs. Moore is crying and Lianna leaves halfway through.

Sam sits, stiff as a board, but he doesn't remember anything when it's over. _Come on Sam, _Dean is saying. They get in the car, and despite the heat, Sam is glad, for once, that the Impala is black. The drive to the cemetery is a slow shuffle of cars that passes in a blur. The cemetery is cold and and gray and _Jess would have hated this_.

_I'm sorry, little brother_. The hand is on his shoulder again. _Come on. Together. _

Mr. Moore says a few words, Mrs. Moore beside him. _She was the joy of our hearts. She gave us far more than we ever gave her. _Mrs. Moore grips her husband's arm.

_No parent, _Mr. Moore chokes out_, should ever have to bury their child. But Jess was kind to everyone she met, and she was happy, and what more could a parent ask for their child? _

Afterwards, Mrs. Moore hugs Sam one more time. _Call us, _she says. _Anything you need_. Lianna flings her arms around his neck and sobs into his shoulder.

Sam feels the numbness dissipate and something inside of him hardens into resolve. He holds Lianna tight and promises to keep in touch. He shakes hands with Mr. Moore. He turns to Dean, and as one, they move towards the car. Dean opens the trunk and sheds his Fed jacket and tie, and Sam follows suit. He looks at his brother, says, _We have work to do_, and slams the trunk shut.

_So dramatic_, Dean grumbles. Dean, and the hand on his shoulder, and _Come on, Sammy. Come on, little brother, and we'll figure it out_. _Together_.

"Jerk," Sam says.

Dean grins.


End file.
